Adventures of a Shark-Faced Ginger in Time
by chestnutghost
Summary: Have you ever wonder what Grell does when he's not drooling on Sebastian? What if he found a time machine? would he use it responsibly? Probably not, I mean come on, he's GRELL. I though of this one day at lunch and decided to write it, but I wanted to do something different. So, this series is going to be completely audience driven, YOU choose what's next! just leave reviews.
1. Chapter 1

"Sometimes this job sucks." Grell said as he slowly crossed the warehouse rooftop. The cool breeze blew his bright red hair back, filling his lungs with a crisp shot of energy. He jumped into the streets below, carrying his Death Scythe over his shoulder. "Cataloging some dead guys junk is not my idea of fun and excitement." The building he was looking for didn't seem to be there, in its place there was a small shack barely large enough to fill an alleyway. In fact it looked just like a miniature warehouse with the number twelve above the door in red lettering.

"William did say that his belongings will be stored in warehouse twelve, right?" He said in a snobbish voice as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose. The door didn't seem to have any handles, knobs, or levers, so he was stumped as to how he was to get in. There were no windows and no other doors around the sides or back as far as he could tell. The only abnormality he could find was a small metal flap to the right of the door. Grell walked closer to inspect the flap. It was newer than the rest, still bright and shiny. Maybe there was a key hole, or some sort of lever behind it? He lifted the flap and peered in as he sat his scythe on the ground. Strange, all he saw was what looked like a glass wall not even two inches away.

Flash! Bright light momentarily engulfed his vision, leaving black spots dancing before him. When his vision returned to him he noticed that the door now lay open, as if someone on the inside had opened it. "What the hell was that? It was like someone took my photograph but I didn't see anyone." He rubbed his eyes to relieve the last of the spots and grabbed his chainsaw. He walked forward, stumbling a little bit as the lamp on the wall lit on its own. "This is getting bloody ridiculous. I think Will sent me here on a gag errand." The walls were otherwise featureless, the same rusty gray as the outside. They were so close that if you stood with your back to one wall and had a good stick, you could reach the other if you stretched a little. The door closed itself behind him. The inside, like the outside, had no handle, but this side even lacked the strange metal flap.

"I don't like this." He said, obviously nervous. "I just want to get this over with." The only exit he saw was a hole in the floor , approximately a yard in diameter, with a sturdy ladder going down as far as the light would reach and extending into the darkness. He plucked a small stone from a corner and dropped it into the hole. "One, two, three…" the rock clanked against the corner as it fell. "Nine, ten, eleven. I think it's safe to say that it's a long way down." He secured his scythe across his back and started down the deep pit.

After a few yards he decided that this was taking far too long and started dropping a few yards at a time before catching the ladder again. By the time he reached the bottom he figured he was at least a hundred yards underground. There was a thick looking metal door directly adjacent to the ladder with a red electric light above it. The door itself had a wheel in the center, which opens the door if turned, which he did, and found himself yet another hundred yards in the air. But what astounded him was not the height, but the view.

Spread out as far as he could see was a massive underground warehouse. "Well, this is a surprise. Has this been here this whole time?" He said staring in amazement. "Oh well, I suppose I should get to work. What was the guys name again?" He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. "Ah, Herbert George Wells. His things should be around here somewhere." He noticed a large map beside the door, and another ladder beside the map. He went up to the map, looking though the index for anything that looked like it would hold the deceased mans possessions. 'New Arrivals' looked promising. It wasn't far from where he was, he should be able to reach it in just a few minutes if he went straight.

He arrived to find many crates and boxes waiting for him. The largest was the size of a buggy. They all had 'H.G. Wells' stamped across them, so he knew he was in the right place. After an hour and a half of monotonous cataloguing and organizing, he was finally left with the large one. He walked up to it and began reading the label. "H.G. Wells, Class A Threat, Time Machine." He said, writing down every word before realizing what he just read. He reread it just to be sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He read it right. It took him less than a minute to take the crate apart, revealing perhaps the most impressive-looking machine in the world. The whole thing was full of shiny brass and expensive gears. It was in a kind of oblong shape with strange blades on both ends bent in towards the middle. In the middle there was a chair, and in front of the chair was two levers and two sets of numbered dials. The set of dials to the left was labeled 'Year' and had thirteen numbers currently on eighteen-thirteen, and the dials on the right were labeled time with six dials set up to show the hour, the minute, and the seconds so far.

Grell figure that one of the levers went forward in time, and one went backward. But, which one did what? "I guess the only way to find out is to try it." He said, reaching for the one on the left. Immediately the strange blades began to spin in opposite directions, followed by a horrible sensation of falling as a milky layer of some unknown substance covered the wondrous machine. The dials signifying the year was rapidly going down and before he could stop it, they reached negative one-hundred-forty-million years. The machine slowly came to a stop, the milky barrier dissolved revealing great flying reptiles flying overhead, wondering what this new, shiny thing was. "I think I went too far. That must mean that this one is forward." He said reaching for the one on the right. This time he pushed it forward gently, like driving a horseless carriage. He was careful, going fast until he reached the fifteen hundreds, then slower until the eighteen hundreds rolled by. Timing it just right he pulled out of the time stream only five minutes after he left.

"That was fun." He exclaimed. "I want to do that again. But, where should I go? Should I go forward in time or backward again?"

**A/N: That WAS fun, wasn't it guys? So where should we go next? It's up to you, left or right, backwards or forwards. I'll wait a few days to read the reviews. And remember, if you guys don't give reviews I can't move on with the story. **

**Till next time, Chestnutghost.**


	2. Chapter 2

"I love this job sometimes!" He said, grabbing his scythe from off the ground and settling back into the seat of the machine. "I think I should go back a bit. Maybe just a hundred years or so, no need to over do it on my first time." His hands trembled as he barely tipped the left lever forward and the mysterious milky substance covered the strange time-ship followed by the horrid sensation of falling. Imagine that you are afraid of heights, and you are suddenly thrust off of the tallest thing you know. On top of that you are struck with an almost insurmountable sense of vertigo. With all of this you can imagine that it would become difficult to concentrate on when to stop the machine, making it hard to successfully navigate time using only the dials on the dashboard for guidance.

Grell proved no exception, not stopping one hundred years into his past but over two. The date read sixteen-eleven and there was something disturbing in the quiet around him as he regained his senses. He looked around and noticed, for the first time, that he had materialized in the middle of a busy town square. All around him people were staring at him, holding their breath as they came to grips with what they just saw.

The redhead seemed surprised at this. "Uh... Hello?" He said, lifting his hand off the lever. The crowd stood a little while longer before the cries of "Witch!" "Demon!" and "Sorcerer!" became the ambient noise of the square. There was, though, one cry that claimed that he was the messiah come to deliver them to paradise. He was however chased away by the few people who were close enough to hear him through the roaring crowd.

Grell was having a worse time than the man, though, because they had now begun to throw rocks and whatever they could find at him, threatening to damage the machine. He had no choice but to leave it for know and let them lock him up, then break out later that night without killing anyone and find the machine. He might wipe out an entire family tree by killing one person.

They closed in around him, grabbing him by the arms and dragging him out of the machine. He reluctantly left his scythe in the machine, not able to bring it with him without fighting for it. The sky above was nice and clear, allowing the sun to sun unhindered over the stone streets leading from the square to the dreary cells where they intended to keep him. The cells were damp and dirty, like any cell you would find in a smallish city which, by the way, was definitely not London. The machine must not only travel in time but also in space somehow.

He was thrown to the ground, messing his beautiful red coat. They had locked the door and exited, still roaring about witches and demons, by the time the ginger managed to stand and dust himself off. "Well that was rude. Not even a 'Oh, he cooperating so maybe he's a good demon'." He said, lurking over to a small cot made of hay scattered on the ground with a sack draped over it. He was surprised to find that it was occupied.

A ruggedly handsome man of about thirty slept under the sack. The stubble on his face showed that he must have been in here for at least a month or so. His clothes suggested that he wasn't poor, but he wasn't a noble either. His hygiene has also taken a turn downhill, as can be expected in a place like this.

The mysterious man chose this moment to leap out at him, taking him by surprise. Grell tried to swing his scythe upwards at the man before remembering that he had left it in the machine, giving the man the chance to knock him to the ground, pinning his arms down over his head.

The reapers superior strength would have been enough to utterly destroy the man had Grell not been completely dumfounded. He just lay there under the man as he regained his breath. The mans hair covered his face so that the only thing showing was his mouth. Grells legs had somehow gotten tangled in the mans during the struggle. Despite being in such a desolate state, the man somehow managed to smell sweet, like honeysuckles. The mans mouth hovered inches about his own, and for a moment Grell hoped for something forbidden to happen, but it didn't. What did happen still surprised him though. Instead of saying anything or attacking him again, the man smiled. Not the wicked smile of some madman, but the smile of someone who was glad to see the other.

Grell relaxed a bit and nervously smiled back. "Hello." he said, staring into his dark black hair where his eyes would be.

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**A/N: Sorry u guise bout the tardiness and shortness of this chapter. I was starting to feel a bit rushed. For the longest time I didn't know how to start this chapter so I would start it then erase it and start again.**

**I promise I have a plan for this, I think. **

**Let me know what you think of this chapter.**

**See you later, Chestnutghost.**


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello." said the man, still pinning Grells arms down. The man obviously thought that he had the upper hand, but Grell had more strength and was swifter than the man. He had only gotten Grell into this position because Grell knew all of this. "I thought you were my guard taking me to my death. I can see now that you are too brightly dressed for that, and too flimsy." He said with a smirk, referring to the gingers situation. Grell was taken aback by the fluidity of the strange mans speech, as though he was used to charming people. The smooth tone in his voice made Grell relax. "My name is John, what may I ask is yours stranger?" He got up, allowing Grell to stand as well.

"Grell, and I'm not flimsy." said the ginger, rubbing his wrists. The man had been quite rough with them. He dusted himself off and looked around the cell for weak points in the walls.

"Your strange name suits your strange appearance. One never sees such bright colours in mens clothing. Even the clothing design is strange. You truly are a stranger." He began following Grell around the cell. "Well Grell, what have you been thrown in here for? I suppose it might have had something to do with your appearance."

"They thought I was an agent of the devil. Started pelting me with stones and other things, then grabbed me and threw me in here." He had found what he was looking for in the far left corner of the wall. A few stones were improperly placed, causing the area around it to weaken. "In any case, I won't be here long enough to let them have me."

"What do you mean?" He said, brushing his hair out of his face for the first time. Grell turned around to answer him but was rendered speechless as he saw his face for the first time. His features were in complete contrast with his personality. His face was gaunt with hunger, causing his cheekbones to pop from his skull, his menacing eyes on top seemed to glow in the dim light. The hair encasing all this was raven black and seemed to know exactly where it needed to be to seem as though this man could kill you if he wished to. The stubble accompanying his long stay imprisoned did little to neglect this impression. He was a man of power and Grell knew it even if John didn't. He was a dark kind of handsome.

"Uh..um..well." He regained his composure and began again. "I mean, I am going to break out of here tonight, since your here to I suppose you could come with me if you want out." He stared at the man, wondering of he would want to go with a "stranger" calling the shots. He didn't have to wonder long though.

"Of course I would, if I stay here I'm going to be executed." He said, almost without delay. "But how to you plan on braking out? I have been trying for almost a year."

"Don't worry about that, all you need to do is watch out for the guards later tonight and I'll call for you when it is done."

Later that night John stood by the door keeping an ear out for any signs of footsteps, while Grell was crouching next to the weakened stop he had found earlier and wrapped his red coat around his fist to cover the noise. In one punch he poured all his strength and knocked the center stones completely out into the alleyway rather noisily.

"How did you do that? I guess you aren't as flimsy as I had thought." said John over his shoulder.

"Christ, John I thought you were supposed to keeping an ear out for any guards." Grell said before looking behind him and seeing the door open. Out stepped a large bulky man with very short hair and a sour look on his face. He was definitely not handsome.

"Whats going on in here" He shouted at the two, then saw the hole in the wall. "Trying to escape were you? I'll soon put a stop to that." He charged at them, raising his fists.

Grell was the first one to act. He jumped up, pushing John behind him. He guard came closer and Grell deflected his punch to the side, using the mans momentum and rolled to the side causing him to ram head first into the hole causing it to collapse into a much bigger hole. The guard groaned but did not get back up, allowing Grell and John to take this opportunity to make there escape.

They ran down the alley to the street and kept running until John started to have trouble keeping up. "I don't think we are being followed." said Grell leaning back against the wall.

"Well, that's the first good luck I've had in this whole mess of mine. I think that this demands a song." He stood up straight, like a man about to deliver an important speech.

"_I owe my life to the man clad in red_

_for without him I would be dead_

_he has helped me see_

_that now it cannot be said_

_that no luck would come for me"_

Grell just stood there staring at this madman, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. "Well, how did you like it?" John said, looking expectantly at him.

"I...I think...maybe... it sounded fine. I'm flattered, but I was already going to escape. No need to thank me." This man is even weirder than me, he thought. "I need to get back to the square, do you know how to get back there?"

"I'm afraid not. As soon as I got to this wretched place I was locked away, not much chance to memorize the streets."

"Things can never be easy for once. I guess we should go our separate ways. No need to hang around any longer." Grell said, turning to go down a side street.

"But you can't leave me now! I'll surely be caught and killed." For a man with such an imposing essence, he was quite cute when he begged. "Why go through the trouble to make sure I got out, only to leave me to be captured?"

Grell pondered this as he walked back towards John. Why had he? Surely it wasn't some sort of attachment to the man, he had barely met him. Yet something about the man intrigued the ginger. A man so queer would have no place in this world. All this went through his head as the John stood there waiting for an answer.

"Well, I suppose I could help you find somewhere safe. But you might see some pretty strange things. Don't be surprised if you can't handle it all at once." Grell wasn't sure if this was the smart thing to do, but he had to know what this power radiating from him was stemming from.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" John said, rushing to the ginger and squeezing him in an unexpected hug.

Who was this man? Grell asked himself. The man looked up at Grell, still holding onto his waist, and for the second time that night their lips hovered close to each other. Grell was the one to break the silence.

"Well, first things first. I need to get back to the square." He said, smiling

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**A/N: Chestnutghost here, I was thinking about how my friend calls here readers duckies, and wondered what I should call you. I'm leaning towards "spooks" simply because I am the Chestnut"Ghost". **

**What do you guise think? I would really like to call you something.**

**Also, do you have any questions for me? I'd be happy to know what my "spooks" are curious about.  
**

**I really like reading your reviews, but sadly there are very few of them. How do you like John so far? I promise I have a plan for him.**

**sorry for the rant.**

**Chestnutghost out.**


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